College Blues
by Faded Smiles
Summary: Though accepted to Harvard, Kyle has let the college blues get to him. Sheila is very disappointed with her son, but is allowing him to return to the nest. Stan and Cartman are eager for his return for VERY different reasons. Many pairings! See inside!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do NOT own South Park and/or anything else that could impose some sort of copyright infringements in this fanfic.

**Author's Note:** Alright, my best friend and I LOVE South Park. We're, like, super hardcore Matt and Trey fans. You know...like aspiring DVDA groupies? LULZ Anyway, we've roleplayed it in the past and decided that it would be fun to collaborate on a fanfic. We kind of did the rough draft in roleplay format, but then I edit the fanfic to make it flow better. Personally, I think the sequencing seems nice. If you must know, I write mainly for Kyle and Stan, while she does Wendy and Cartman's parts. Umm, we're both kind of the Broflovskis. XD I'll mention more characters that we write for to give the pair of us proper credit if we decide to put up future chapters.

For your information, there are some stereotypes in this fanfic, but they are meant to be humorous. Of course there is off color humor, since this is BASED off of the one and only South Park! Any critique is welcome, but please attempt to refrain from n00b flaming. Also, there is GAY in this because WE LOVE THE GAY, OMIGOD! There is going to be a lot of pairings in this fanfic. The main ones so far are Cartman/Kyle, Stan/Wendy, Stan/Kyle, and Cartman/Wendy. More will most likely come as the story progresses. If you're still interested after all that, then I encourage you to read on, reader!

* * *

_What am I going to do? What the hell am I going to do?! I cannot believe this! How can I be going back there? It's not fair...why am I such a failure? How can this be happening to me?!_ a boy in his late teens with red wavy hair prated inwardly. His usual fair skin was a lot lighter than usual. In fact, his complexion was rather lurid looking, for he felt sick to his stomach. He was naturally thin, but had grown a tad thinner over the months from all the stress, pressure, and anxiety. His dark green eyes had never looked so weary before. They felt as heavy as led. There were dark circles under them from pulling too many all nighters with the aide of frappucino drinks from Starbucks.

His orbs did not glow as bright as they did the day he left South Park. His spirit was completely drained. There was no more ambition...no more reason to try. He failed and now his only option was to bail.

The idea of sleep enticed him greatly. His small dorm space was filled with packed boxes, which were to be moved by the movers in the morning. He had done all he could. There was no more tests to worry about now, no more scores, and no more competing. His eye lids began to flicker shut, allowing more darkness to take him in the already completely dark room.

"AHHH!" he suddenly screamed, his body bolting upright from the bed. The annoying, shrill siren ringtone from his cellphone warned him. He already knew that it was his mother, since he had set it especially for her. It was a lot like a warning. Grudgingly, his hand fished around in his pocket. He grabbed a hold of his phone in the next instant, flipped it open, and pressed the green 'talk' button. "M-Mom?" he greeted uneasily, feeling rather squeamish. His tone was somewhat hoarse from being silent for such a length of time. He was fully prepared for his ears to bleed.

"Listen to me Kyle, have you even thought about what you're doing?" Sheila screeched. Her voice was distinct, and her New York accent was in check. There was no question that she was livid, her oldest son was talking about throwing his life away as far as she was concerned. She tapped her nails impatiently against the kitchen table, not waiting for an answer.

"Your father and I paid good money for your education at Harvard. I can't believe you're doing so poorly, woobie. Don't you want to be a lawyer like your father? Look at what a success he is. We always had food on the table and a roof over your head. You're not going to get a Harvard education here in Colorado, I can tell you that right now."

Sheila Broflovski had been planning this phone call all day, she had it planned to a t. The rest of the family was sleeping, but that didn't restrain her voice's volume. When she was angry, she became overly irrational.

Silence was all that could be heard on the other end of the line. He still could not work up the nerve to speak, for he knew his mother had more to say. It was almost that he was afraid of speaking out of turn...that it would cause more screaming.

"I know winter break starts tomorrow, so your father and I will be there at the airport to pick you up. We are by no means happy about your decision, young man. All I can say is that you better get your act together when you get back here, do I make myself clear?"

"Mom..." Kyle finally gasped, feeling struck by the large woman's words. Her infuriated tone managed to strike terror into his heart still, for she was one to be feared when she was upset. He had grown even more pale in the past few seconds. "I know...I know. I just...couldn't keep up here. Mom, you don't have to remind me of how much of a failure I am." It was difficult for him to say if he actually wanted to be a lawyer like his father. Really, it was the ideal profession for him and it made sense. It was logical and his father wanted him to be involved in the family's law firm.

"Al...Alright. My flight's still scheduled to get in at 10:30 AM. I'll see you, Dad, and Ike then." There were no more words to be exchanged, and he hung up the phone. He could not take any more of his mother's incessant castigating. It only rubbed more salt into the wounds. His eyes burned slightly, though no tears were shed.

Kyle placed his cellphone on the nightstand and turned on his side, facing the blank wall. His eyes were completely wide now, although still very tired. He wasn't sure exactly HOW he was going to get to sleep now.

* * *

"Eeehhhhuuh," an exasperated groan filled the room. His computer chair was leaning back to a point where it was almost dangerous. He had the feeling he was about to fall, but it didn't phase him in the slightest. Either he was too tired, or just preoccupied with the noise coming from his mouth.

Sitting up, he automatically pushed himself forward. It had been such a long, hard day. Eric Cartman had actually attended all of his classes that morning. Going to community college was tougher than he thought. He had somehow managed to fail every class his first semester, but it was basically because he just did not care. It was more interesting to scam, and make money. After all, he needed money to live. He didn't need college, but it was something his mom insisted on.

He lazily turned on his computer, which took some time to load. His eyes scrutinized the room. The place really wasn't bad. Of course it was of small size, but he had only begun to live on his own. Eric didn't believe in jobs. At least not for himself. That sort of thing was better left for people that liked making little money. He was all about big amounts of money, but earning it with not much work involved. His profession was to scam, and scam well. Recently he had tricked some old people into believing a gambling scam on the internet. Old people were completely incompetent when it came to anything online. It was completely genius.

"Uh, finally," he mumbled as his aim popped up. Cartman logged on to his screen name, ClyF541. It was late, and winter break started tomorrow. It was doubtful that anyone would be online. Most college kids would be asleep, since they'd have to travel home tomorrow. Cartman planned on going home for Christmas of course, he wouldn't miss his mom's pie for the world. However, he was not too far from home. To his surprise, someone actually was on. It was his long time, sort of friend, Stan Marsh. He decided to greet him with: **ClyF541:** Hey, what's going on fag?

He was answered with the retort of: **WdyLvr:** A LOT, fatass! Haven't you heard the news? Kyle's coming back to South Park tomorrow morning! I mean...it sucks ass that the pressure caught up with him and he flunked out, but he's going to be living here again. Wendy and I are going to the airport too. His parents don't know about it since Kyle was the one who told me, but I doubt they would mind.

"Stan, are you going to help me pack or not?" Wendy called. There was no answer. It had become typical for her boyfriend to ignore her. Lately he had been very preoccupied with Kyle's return. Although him and Stan were best friends, she sometimes got the feeling that he cared more for his friend than he did for her. She often disregarded that thought. It wasn't even as if Stan hadn't spoken to Kyle in months. They constantly texted each other, and talked on aim, there was even the occasional phone call.

"Stan, are you going to help me pack?" she reiterated, raising her voice as one often does when they're not heard the first time. He had been staring at that computer screen for hours. Maybe if she turned off the monitor he'd get the hint.

Stanley Marsh fidgeted slightly on the full sized bed. The laptop was beginning to become hot and burn his lap. He had been online and being lazy for quite a few hours, completely exhausted after walking around all day at the Boulder Museum of Contemporary Art and spending the evening shopping at the mall. His arms still ached from carrying all the various bags from different stores. His high school sweetheart, Wendy Testaburger, was frantically packing for their trip back to the peculiar, little, mountain town and calling for his aid. She claimed that they did so much shopping so she would have a new dress to wear on Christmas Eve, though she bought much more than just that.

In spite of the fact that they were poor college kids, they STILL had credit cards. A little splurging for females was a natural occurrence. It was best not to fight it, but simply go along with it. It was something that the everyday man in a relationship had to live with.

As Eric Cartman took a hit off his soda, he shifted his eyes towards his computer screen. Could it be true? This was the best news he'd ever heard! Kyle Broflovski was moving back to South Park. He could barely contain his contentment. He was almost delirious. That good for nothing Jew had cracked under the pressure. Kyle wasn't just a Jew, he was a failure Jew. He was a Jew that would make no money! His chances of becoming a lawyer were diminishing.

He replied: **ClyF541:** Are you fucking serious? I can't believe that Jew cracked under all the pressure. What time does his flight come in tomorrow?

Cartman could only hope that Stan would give him the information. Even if he didn't, he'd camp out all night at the airport. He'd do anything to humiliate Kyle, no matter how much effort it took. This was all too perfect. He could even rip of his Jew, bitch mom. Tomorrow was going to be a day to remember. A day for ripping to the extreme.

"We need to get rest for tomorrow, you're going to be driving anyway." The calling was to remain incessant until she got a response. Wendy Testaburger, nor any woman in her right mind, was not one to be ignored by her man.

"Oof..." was the exasperated sigh that escaped from Stan's mouth. His eyes darted away from the screen and to the source of the noise, finally deciding to address it. "Yeah, I know, baaaby. I'll go to bed in a little while!" He intentionally chose to ignore the bit about helping her pack. Really, it was no skin off his nose what clothes she would pack for him. He was actually deeply pining that the girl would take the liberty to do this. He was still feeling completely wiped out from their full day's outing.

It was completely hopeless. He wasn't listening at all. In a fuss, Wendy continued to pack for the both of them.

The IM noise directed Stan's frigid blue orbs to find their way back to the screen. "Christ..." he murmured under his breath. His fingers began to move fast and he typed out the response of: **WdyLvr:** Yes, dude! Why would I lie about something like that? I can't believe nobody's told you sooner. I've known for two whole weeks. I think Kenny knew for that long too. You're really out of the loop. God damn, you're lame, Cartman.

He tapped the enter button, snarking at his own response. The habit of ripping on one another was one that carried on throughout all their middle and high school years. There was no reason to stop now. He went on to say: **WdyLvr:** Why should I tell you? All you're going to do is rip on him as soon as he gets off the plane. That wouldn't be cool at all, dude. I mean...not at first. Kyle doesn't need to hear that kind of shit. He's really not taking it well and feels bad enough. He sounded really down on the phone today.

Cartman's upper lip drooped reading the response that flashed across the screen. _What an asshole._ Naturally he was use to the constant ripping, it was how they communicated. It still didn't make it pleasant by any means though. He didn't have much time to stew over Stan, for he was too excited about the great news. Kyle felt like shit over what was going on! He probably cried about it late at night. Call it Cartman's intuition, but he had the feeling Stan wouldn't release Kyle's information, but that was no matter.

He replied: **ClyF541:** Ha ha ha, Stan. I'm sorry, but nobody keeps me posted on that fucking Jew's life story! I had a feeling you wouldn't tell me his whereabouts. Of course I'd rip on him! It's the perfect opportunity. I'd be stupid not to do it. Anyway, it's getting late gay wad, so I'm going to have to go.

With that, he signed off his screen name. Cartman quickly pulled open his desk drawer, scrambling for a piece of paper. He appeared almost deluded as he searched for a black sharpie. It was so perfect, nothing could top it. He'd make sure he got his chance to rip on Kyle, and he'd be at that God damn airport before anyone else.

"Aww...AWW!" Stan groaned as Cartman signed off without another word. He shut his eyes tightly and put his hand to the bridge of his nose. This was typical body language from him whenever he was upset. It was possible that he completely fucked over his super best friend. "This can't be happening...what am I saying? It's utterly hopeless. Fatass is going to be there for sure and it's all my fault. There's a reason why we don't tell him these things," he thought out loud. He signed off of his AIM and closed the laptop. He set it aside on the night stand.

Wendy crawled into bed, feeling rather disconected fron Stan. The covers were pulled up directly to her chin, and she had a tight grip on them. Her body was tense, and she was tired from the long day at school. Normally, Stan would talk to her at least a little bit before they drifted off to sleep, or pressure her for a sexual favor. Usually she wouldn't object, for she really wanted it anyway. But she liked to play the game of 'I'm too tired tonight, what about tomorrow?' just to get the both of them a little more worked up. She had a feeling this wasn't going to be one of those _enjoyable_ nights.

The older teen removed his poofball hat and set it on top of the laptop. His arms crossed as his hands gripped at the hem of his The Cure band T-shirt. He pulled it up over his head and tossed it aside. Stan had already changed into sweatpants upon arriving home, so there was no need to change those. He scooted to the edge of the bed for a moment, pulling the comforter free from the mattress. "God damn, you tuck it in tight, dude," Stan commented to Wendy. He crawled back over to the space and pulled the covers over his body. After adjusting his pillows slightly, he turned out the bedside lamp and rested his head.

Wendy immediately turned around, her long hair getting a bit tangled. He was really pushing it. "I'm sorry the way I tuck the covers displeases you, Stan. Let me fix it for you, I do everything around here anyway," she grumbled with a slight glare. Propping herself up on her elbows, she held his gaze, waiting for whatever he decided to throw back at her.

"W-Wendy," Stan began, his eyes snapping open. The girl was so close that the tips of their noses were touching. The animosity in her tone cut through him. "Whooa, dude. I...don't take it personally. I really meant nothing by it. Don't you think that's a little harsh? I do my fair share around here. I'm just really beat from being out all day. I...I just meant that I would much rather be snug with you, not the covers. Honest!" He prayed to Jesus that his sweet talking would get him out of this. He wasn't feeling up to starting a war before bedtime.

The tone in his voice screamed panic. He honestly didn't know he did something wrong, which made her heart sink. Guilt was already washing over her entire being. She knew it would of been better to not lash out at him, but she had been so angry. Whenever Stan sweet talked her, he managed to get out of a lot. His kind words could erase her memory completely. Her amythest orbs softed, and she slowly lowered herself back down. "I'm sorry, Stan," she said with a sigh "I suppose I'm just a little irritated...and tired. Lets just try and get some sleep?" she asked with a weary smile. With that, she kissed him lightly and shut her eyes.

He shifted in the bed in order to be directly behind her. His toned arms wrapped around her midsection and pulled her close. "I love you, Wendy," whispered Stan sleepily and directly in her ear. She was right...he could worry about his Cartman troubles in the morning. They were sure to beat him to the airport, right? Boulder was a lot closer to Denver International than South Park.

Of course things weren't truly "resolved," but for now they both needed to sleep.

* * *

In all the years he'd known Kyle, he'd always flown Delta. Such as when he went on family trips. There was no doubt in his mind he'd be flying with that particular airline, all he'd have to do is wait in the terminal. Which was by no means an easy task with the heightened security these days. Knowing that Kyle was coming home from Boston, Massachusetts, he wasted no time. That stuck up, Harvard Jew was going to crumble in front of his very eyes. Like a bat out of hell, he instinctively wrote "**WELCUM BK JOO!!**" in big, bold, capital letters. Cartman wasn't the best speller, but he knew what he wrote was incorrect. Kyle couldn't stand horrible spelling and grammar. It was a win win. There wasn't a moment to lose.

Eric made his way to his closet, quickly throwing a robe over his pajamas before putting on his coat. He needed as many layers as he could get, it was beyond freezing outside. Hastily, he grabbed a pillow and a blanket, and then he was out the door.

The inclement weather was unbearable. Icy winds whipped around him, stinging the exposed flesh on his face. It wasn't snowing, but there was still plenty on the ground.

"God, I hate the fucking cold," he stammered getting into his car. He had a long drive ahead of him, but it would all be worth it. The three closest airports were Denver International, Colorado Springs, and Aspen/Pitkin County. Kyle would be arriving at Denver International, he always did whenever he went anywhere. An imperishable smirk appeared on his face.

The drive was going to take about two hours. Nothing was close by when you lived in a hick, mountain town. Cartman let out a heavy sigh. Thankfully for him, he was full of energy and ready for the time consuming journey.

When he arrived in Denver he was relieved to say the least. The drive had been much more arduous than he expected. Roads were still icy, and at some points during the drive, there was still snow on the ground. That was mostly still in South Park, since the roads weren't consistently plowed. Being in Denver reminded him of Stan and Wendy, who attended the University of Colorado at Boulder. It pissed him off how they were in closer distance of being able to pick up the Jew. All of his anger subsided as he finally was able to find a parking space in the airport's parking garage.

"I can almost taste my victory," he prated to himself, clutching his belongings and running into the nearest elevator. This was going to be one of the best days of his life, in his mind. As soon as he was actually in Denver International, he began running in search of the check in section for Delta. _Aaaw, aaw, son of a bitch!_ Cartman glanced at his watch, how the hell were there so many people waiting in line to be checked in? It was 1:30 am. _I don't have fucking time for this._ Pillow and blanket in check, he made his way towards the line.

"Oh, excuse me coming through! Emergency, emergency situation," Cartman called out shoving his way through the line, receiving nothing but death glares.

"Hey kid, what's the emergency? We've been waiting in line here for a long time, you can't just cut people," an elderly woman informed him.

_Christ, old bitch hag._ "I'm sorry mamn," Eric replied with a sickening sweet tone. "You don't understand, my little sister who has full blown AIDS is flying in by herself. She could be getting off the plane any minute, and if I'm not there for her who knows what could happen."

The old woman did not reply, she seemed at a loss for words. She looked as if she didn't know whether to respond negatively, or positively. Regardless, Cartman continued to make his way through the line, now getting sympathetic stares. The people didn't seem to mind as much, knowing that he wasn't actually trying to get on a flight himself. The people were gullible, and Eric Cartman was manipulative.

"Excuse me sir, you have to wait in line," a man behind the front desk replied, who looked very busy. Cartman screwed his face up, and made his voice sound as pathetic as possible.

"Oh God, mister, you don't understand. I need to wait in the terminal for my little sister. She's flying here all alone, her flight could arrive any minute. She's only seven years old, and has AIDS. No, not HIV, AIDS. I've always been the one that she trusts. I've always looked out for her. You don't know how hard it is, to grow up in a world being different. Never experiencing the joys of your childhood because you're always thinking of death. You know death is right around the corner, but you can't stop it," tears were forming in his amber colored eyes.

"Sure, there's treatment, but you know how scary it is? She's always sick. She asks "Eric, why did mommy have to get raped by that black man, infected with AIDS, on her trip to Africa?" Christ, she's only a kid! She thinks our family would have been better off if she was never born. We're in a financial hole right now, but we get by, one day at a time."

The man behind the desk had a similar reaction to the old woman, except he looked as if he was on the verge of tears himself. "Come on kid, I'll lead you through security."

"Oh thank you, kind sir! You don't know how much this means to me, my sister will truly appreciate it. If only there were more people like you in the world."

With an evil grin, he followed behind the man, plowing through the security vicinity. He had been wished good luck, and with that he was off to the terminal. Eric had really become a pro at turning on the water works. Ever since he was a kid he had been lying. It had really become second nature.

He scouted out a row of empty chairs. This would be the ideal place to crash for the night. He placed his pillow on one end, and got situated. All things would go according to plan. The welcome sign was tucked away in his overnight bag, and his cell alarm was set to wake up at 5:00 am. He even brought some crackers, with some mustard and ketchup. It was a rather odd thing to eat, but he enjoyed it. Camping out in the terminal would be well worth it. _The look on Kyle's face will be priceless. Just wait ti'll he sees me instead of his family and those butt holes. You don't know what you're in for, Jew rat._ That was his last thought before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

"You undastand dat dis very serious procedure, sir? Peopre's rives are in your hands! It rike as serious as answering ein, one, one carr! You must be prepared for dis! I not give seat to anyone, sir! It put my job on rine!" an uppity Asian woman at the Delta check-in counter castigated. Her slanty eyes were fixated into a glare at the exhausted Jewish boy.

"Yes, I AM SURE," Kyle stated firmly through gritted teeth. This was the umpteenth time that he and the woman had been through this. He couldn't help but roll his eyes this time. It was blatantly obvious that he was becoming agitated by all of this. "I will help out in any way that I can, but really, what are the odds?! We're flying across middle America! If anything's going to happen it's that we're going to crash into a mountain! I won't be able to assist anybody then because we'll all be obliterated! But, I swear to God that if it's possible that I'll help if I can!" he amazingly ranted in one breath.

He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly, in an attempt to calm himself. His exasperated eyes met hers. "Now, will you PLEASE give me my ticket? I'm going to be late and wind up missing my flight all together!"

The woman seemed at a loss for words. For a while, it seemed if she was contemplating the silly American's sanity. "Werr...I guess I can do for you, if you put it rike dat, young man," she finally said. She punched some information into her computer and retrieved the ticket. "Here you are. Carry on! You hord up rine rong enough!"

Kyle twitched slightly as his hand shakily accepted the ticket. Every urge in his body was telling him to scream, but he knew it would not help. He bit his tongue as he began trekking to the security vicinity at Logan Airport.

"Kid, you betta read safety instructions! No forget!" the Asian woman lectured after.

He chose to ignore the remark entirely. Instead, he responded in a way that Craig Nommel would have surely been proud of. He was at the end of his rope. The morning was unfortunately getting progressively bleaker. Kyle could hear a "How rude!" uttered not so faintly in the distance. Frankly, he could not give a damn anymore. He knew if his mother had been there that she would have surely given him a lecture on manner and make him return to the counter to apologize to the ticket agent.

Security was no walk in the park either. Aside from the standard procedures that everybody else went through, he always had to inform the screener that he had diabetes and was carrying his supplies with him. This tended to hold up the line just a little more than it would for most. Nobody seemed to ever be too sympathetic about a teenage kid with Diabetes mellitus Type 1. Although the screener was understanding, some people looked at him (who hadn't paid attention), and scrutinized him as if he were some kind of heroin addict. Fortunately, Kyle was very organized. All his medications and insulin were clearly labeled with their prescriptions, along with his doctor's notes.

His mother had gotten him a traveling case for his medication that was very well organized. It made it easy when he took it out of his carry-on backpack and placed it in the plastic bin. Aside from that, he also had to take his laptop out of its case and remove his shoes. Once he finally got through, he was randomly selected for an additional screening. It was very unpleasant to be prodded, padded, and waved down with the wand. Kyle had a propensity to get called for these about every other time he went to the airport. He wasn't sure why, but it happened. It added to his annoyance.

Twenty-five agonizing minutes later, he was finally on his way to the terminal. Kyle arrived just as a voice over the PA system called "Last boarding call for flight 1089, Boston to Cincinnati." He hastily rushed over to the ticket agent with his ticket clenched tightly in hand. He was going to make it.

"Yaahhh...I know. I can't wait until we get that hooker over at our pad this Friday, man. It's going to be fucking iiiiit!" a ticket taker chatted with another co-worker. He had the appearance of a college drop out, which was a chilling look into a possible future, and somehow a California accent.

Kyle cleared his throat loudly, presenting his ticket.

The ticket taker stopped abruptly with his conversation. "Geez, man. No need to be so uptight," he scolded, taking Kyle's ticket, scanning it, and returning it. "We were, like, having a conversation. You need to be chill, ya know bro?"

"No, I almost missed my flight! You haven't been having my morning, so I'd appreciate it if you kept your comments to yourself, 'broooo'. You haven't been living my life. so don't expect be to be 'chill'!" Kyle viciously replied, taking big strides into the hangar. He practically sprinted onto the plane along with a few other stragglers. Kyle glanced at his ticket's information, although he knew where he was to be all too well. He took the window seat on the right side of the plane, right by the emergency exit. A rather large, old woman was seated next to him.

"Hey whippersnapper, help an old lady out with her seat belt!" she demanded in a not-so-sweet old lady voice as Kyle placed his carry-on bag and laptop underneath his seat. In fact, she spoke with a thick southern drawl.

A crestfallen sigh escaped from his mouth. His burnt out orbs glanced down briefly at her midsection. Grudgingly, he leaned over and adjusted the strap as far as it would go to accommodate her rather corpulent waist. It barely clicked into place after all that, but just fit. He then settled back into his own seat uncomfortably and buckled himself in.

"I guess young people still give us old folks a hand! And here I thought ya was a little shit! Guess ya ain't that bad! I made you out as a yuppie, city slicker!" she proclaimed, resting her arm on the arm rest in-between them. The excess flab rolled over into Kyle's seat. Really, the woman should have reserved two seats.

"Yeah..." retorted Kyle, no enthusiasm whatsoever. He hadn't managed to get any sleep all night after the phone call. He still did not feel well.

"Buck up, sonny! I hate flyin' too, but I'll get by. I might start hollarin' and squeeze onteh yer hand, but we'll get by, consarnit!" the large woman reassured him. After a few moments, she opened her mouth again. "Say, are ya goin' home fer the holidays? I'm goin' ta visit my son in Ada!"

Something in-between a yawn and a sigh left his mouth. Great, a chatty elderly woman. I'm not in the mood for this at all, he thought bitterly. Kyle nodded to the overweight woman. "Yes, to South Park, Colorado."

"WHA?! WHERE?!"

"SOUTH PARK, COLORADO!"

"Ohhh my! Well why done ya say so before, huh? You have a long travelin' day, sonny! You have to stop ovah in Ohio!"

The old woman stating the obvious was becoming more annoying by the seconds. Everything was just getting to him because of how rough his last few months had been. His body visibly tensed up. He felt peevish and longed for nothing more than this flight to end. Sleep was definitely out of the question now. Perhaps on the next flight...

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, wasn't that just a hoot and a holler? I would appreciate at least five reviews before I upload the next chapter. I DO need some incentive to know if I should continue posting chapters here. : D


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter! XD How is that for lazy?

**Author's Note:** Alright! Chapter two of this fanfic! WHEEEEW! Are you pumped? I almost feel like there's a whole lot of nothing going on in this chapter. I'm sorry if the story's kind of slow, but reviews will make the rest COME faster. Haha, come? Get it? I must thank everybody for their kind words. I apologize for how long it took to upload the second chapter. The reviews just seemed to crawl their way on here. DX I kind of forgot to check. Failboat ftl. Anyway, please read chapter two and write up a review. Five more to continue to chapter three!

* * *

The clangor of the alarm rang through out the terminal. It was exactly 5:00 am. The alarm blared loud and only became more insistent with each ring. It was sounding off like a siren. He had set his phone to its maximum volume so he would wake up for sure.

"Hehuhah!" Cartman cried completely bewildered. Soon he realized it was merely his cell phone that was emitting the horrid noise. He lazily dug around in his front pocket in order to turn it off. His eyes stared at the ceiling, it felt like he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. He hated this feeling, he had experienced it every morning before school. Suddenly he felt two, pint sized hands on his face. The hands began squeezing his cheeks together.

"Mommy, look at this cute little piggy! His cheeks are really chubby and cute," a high pitched voice squeaked. The girl was no more than four years old, and managed to reach her hand down to tug on Cartman's nose. She lifted it upwards in order to resemble a real pig. "Mommy, look he really is a pig! He's tubby too." The girl's mother was not paying attention. The woman was busy checking over her own flight information. She simply nodded in response.

His fists were clenched tight and they were growing white with color. Nobody called Eric Cartman fat. Not even if it was a little girl. Nothing could enrage him as quickly as a weight insult. Taking a deep breath, he bolted upright, startling the little girl.

"Don't touch my fucking face, you got that!?" he roared. The little girl was obviously stricken with fear, her eyes were already teeming with tears. With one last look at Eric's evil glare, she ran to latch on to her mother.

The woman took off her reading glasses, setting her itinerary aside, finally paying adequate attention to her daughter. It took a few minutes to get the young girl to settle down, but with a few hugs she managed to get her under control.

"What happened, sweetie?" the mother asked sincerely concerned. The girl did not seem keen on talking, but she did manage to point her finger directly at Eric Cartman, who had been opening a box of crackers. "Stay here, honey. Mommy's going to talk to him."

"God damn, I'm starving," he muttered sleepily as he began working on opening his snack. The comment the little girl had made had immensely agitated him. His current weight was by no means fat, but he was not skinny either. Ever since he was a kid he had been heavy, and he was often teased by his weight. It lead Eric to become overly sensitive about being overweight. During high school he had played football, allowing him to bulk up quite a bit, which gave him more of a muscular build.

"Excuse me, but what the hell did you do to my daughter?" the woman had made her way over to Cartman, and she was looking rather displeased.

"Your daughter is a little brat, ma'am. I think you should keep her on a leash," he replied, shoving a cracker into his mouth.

"Well, I never! She's a perfect-"

"Jesus tap dancing Christ," Cartman cut her off, "she called me tubby, and that is not okay, God dammit!"

"Well, you could stand to lose a few pounds!" she countered.

"What'd you say, bitch!? I'm not fucking fat!" he spat, his face contorted with absolute rage. He managed to throw his open box of crackers directly at the woman, causing her to shriek and withdraw from the particular area.

"Yeah, you better run, bitch!" Cartman sat himself down in a huff, causing the bench of chairs to shake. It was only 5:30 am and he was already off to a bad start. He knew it would all be better when Kyle arrived, which would hopefully be soon. That sweet feeling of schadenfreude would make everything better.

* * *

"Would you like anything to drink, sir?" A flight attendant inquired in a soft-soap manner.

The haggard teen slowly turned his head to make eye contact with the woman. His whole body felt as if it were completely spent. It was becoming dangerously difficult for Kyle to distinguish whether his blood sugar was becoming low or whether it was due to not sleeping for three days straight. Flunking out of law school had literally been killing him slowly. "Orange...juice...please," he requested slowly. He was fading. Much to his mother's horror, he hadn't called ahead a time to request a special diabetic meal.

She nodded before her hands took a hold of the Tropicana juice carton and passed it to Kyle, along with a drinking straw. "And what about for you, sir?"

"Dayuuuum, wom-mon! I think I have a Sprite! I know it's only in the mo'ning, but that soda is juss too good to pass up at any houa!"

His companion was now an African American man named Tyrone, who seemed to take a great amount of pride in his history. From start to take off he had been telling Kyle all about how many times he had read Malcolm X's book. Although he was having a hard time forming any complete thoughts, the Jewish teen suspected that this man may have not really known his people's history as well as he claimed. In fact, he may have been hindering their struggle. He didn't have the voice now for such complex ideas, however. All he wanted was for sleep to come, but the incessant chatter made it impossible.

The flight attendant giggled and handed the man his can of soda, along with a cup full of ice. She then pushed her tray of beverages over to the next set of seats.

"You not feelin' so hawt, huh cracka?" Tyrone inquired, opening the pull tab on his can of Sprite. He poured the crystal liquid into the plastic cup full of ice.

"...It's Kyle, and thanks for...noticing," the wavy-haired redhead grumbled. His teeth bit off the top of the plastic wrap that imprisoned the straw. He punched the bendy contraption into the top of the carton and put the straw to his lips. Kyle sucked inward and swallowed a sip of the sugar laced fruit juice.

Tyrone shook his head slightly. "Man, what the hell wrong wit'chu? You a vegetarian or something? You look all pale an' ill an' shiiit."

Kyle removed the straw from his lips. "I would rather not discuss my personal problems with a complete stranger at the moment. Sorry, but I don't want to share." His tone was completely aloof and detached. He was cranky and fed up.

"Maaan, you one cold ass muthafucka! You ain't neva gonna go places wit dat tuuude, know what I sayin'?" Tyrone implored, punching Kyle in the shoulder. It was a tad harder than the average playful punch.

"Ouch! Jesus Christ, not so hard!" Kyle groaned, wincing. That was sure to leave a mark. In fact, he could swear the he already felt a bruise forming. The punch stung upon impact, but the after effect on his body made it a lot more sore.

"Hahaha! Aww, you okay, cracka. Dat little swing ain't gonna hurt nobody. If it seriously diiid, then I think it maybe time fo' you to go to da gym when you get into town." He flexed his free arm that wasn't holding onto his beverage cup. "Yo' skinny white ass has to toughen up if you eva plan on surviving in da hood!"

His green orbs, which appeared rather dull, glanced down at his own arms. Working out hadn't been a priority of his these past couple of months. He was slightly toned, but just barely. His arms weren't anywhere near the size of Tyrone's guns. Kyle shook his head and averted his gaze back to the man's face. "It's okay...I'm not going to be spending time in your hood. South Park...I think I'll be fine."

"Man, you can't stay sheltered in yo' hick mountain town foreva! It can't always protect you! You gotta learn! You gotta adapt an' shiiit, like da animals!"

_Of all the places to hear a lecture...a fucking plane? Really?_ Kyle mused inwardly. Gravity tugged down on the corners of his lips and his neural expression changed into a frown. He had heard enough of them from his mother ever since he began to slip. They did not help mold him into a better person or hinder him. He was still the same Kyle Broflovski, only one that had lost his ambition and nerve. How had it come to this? He should have been able to handle himself better.

Fortunately, the PA system crackled with the static of an announcement. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now our pleasure to give you a preview of this morning's film. If you are interested in watching the whole film, our flight attendants will be passing out headphones for only five dollars."

The distraction allowed for Kyle to turn his head to the front and away from his temporary seat mate. Several small screens automatically came down in front of the various pairs of seats. The preview of the movie began to play promptly.

_'Rob Schneider was a woman, an animal, a stapler, a carrot, and then even an eight year old boy! Now he's a prestigious lab executive...scientist! He's got it all going for him! A job he loves, a girlfriend, a big house, and even a dog! Until one day...an unfortunate mishap at the lab!_"Weak..." Kyle thought out loud, taking a sip from his juice carton. Rob Schneider transforming into random nouns was never something that struck his funny bone. There was also something off about that preview. Were they allowed to show R Rated films on flights? Weren't there kids onboard?

"I think this is the peroxide!"

[Another fellow scientist pours what appears to be a vile of blood and some other chemicals into Rob Schneider's open wound.]

"Oh God, what did you put in there?!"

And now Rob Schneider is...AIDS! [Transforms into an amorphous blob, which is apparently the AIDS virus] And he's about to find out that being HIV positive...[Pans to the blob attempting to have sex with his girlfriend]...isn't exactly positive!

From the creators of Derp, and The Hot Chick, Rob Schneider is The AIDS! Rated R for Retarded.'

"HAHAHAHA! Oh dayuuuum, I'm seein' dat! Look like a funny one! I tell you all my thoughts on da movie, cracka!"

His weary orbs grew wide. _Why do I deserve this? Why would any decent person deserve this? I know life isn't fair...but this is just as fucking ridiculous! _

* * *

The snow was beginning to gently hit the ground. The last thing this town needed was more snow. Wendy fixated her eyes on what laid beyond her window. Construction and more construction. Time definitely had the tendency to drag on when you needed to be somewhere. As the snow hit the window of their car she couldn't help but notice the beauty of it. No matter how much of a pain the snow was, it gave off a nostalgic feeling for the dark-haired was only one ring before the phone went straight to Kyle Broflovski's voicemail. "Hey, you've reached Kyle. I'm sorry that I missed your call. Please leave your name and number and I will try my best to get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks...and if this is Cartman, fuck off! I don't need to waste my minutes with your retarded prank calls, fatass. Get over yourself. Not everybody wants to listen to the sound of your voice...don't even leave a message."

A smile blossomed out fully on Stan's lips. He had the personal greeting completely memorized, right down to the part where Kyle told Cartman to leave him alone. It was something that occurred often during the first couple of months that Kyle was away, but to Stan's knowledge, his sometimes friend eventually got bored with voicemail harassment. He had to wonder why Kyle never changed it. Perhaps law school had consumed his life that much. Either that, or Cartman was lying to him. Both were just as likely. After the tone beeped, the teen in the red poofball hat parted his lips to speak.

"Hey Kyle. It's Stan, dude. I figured your phone would still be off 'cause your flight isn't supposed to land until at least 10:30, but I just wanted to call to let you know ahead of time that Wendy and I are running late because of some gay road construction on Pena Boulevard. It totally sucks ass, we're stuck in traffic. I don't know if your parents are going to beat us there or not, but I just wanted to let you know, dude. I think we'll be, liiike," he paused for a moment, briefly glancing at the clock on the radio. "Fifteen minutes late. I know you'll probably check this soon after you land. Hang in there, dude. Everything is going to be okay. Try not to worry about it. We'll get through this."

She intently listened to the tone of Stan's voice as he left Kyle a message. Something about his tone irked her.

His thumb clicked the red off button and he hung up. Stan casually tossed his red Motorola Razor into the drink holder of he and Wendy's smart fortwo. The pair of them paid mind to the '_Go Green_' movement and attempted to do whatever they could here and there to help out the environment. Although Stan was an animal lover, the main initiative came from Wendy, who seemed to be considerate about the Earth and worthy causes. They both had a propensity to be on the liberal cast her amethyst orbs towards Stan, watching as he put his phone down. It just seemed like he was a little over excited to see his best friend. Whenever this thought crossed her mind she immediately felt guilty. He hadn't seen Kyle in quite some time, it was natural to be excited and content. She didn't want to come off as a woman crazed with jealously because that wasn't it at all. She felt that something about Stan's happiness was just off."God damn, this better let up soon. It's like we're hopelessly stuck..." whined Stan. The fingers on his left hand impatiently tapped against the steering wheel.

"I know, this construction is absolutely insane. Hopefully we'll make it to the airport soon. You called Kyle and told him about our situation, he'll understand. I wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski are hitting the same kind of traffic," the raven-haired girl trailed off. It seemed as if her mind was picturing the sentence she just uttered in her mind.

"Being stuck here doesn't have to be such a downer, Stan. I mean, it's quality alone time," she said with a gentle smile. She squeezed his hand for the moment it was off the wheel. After last night, she wanted to come off as loving as possible. It had been quite difficult in the recent days for her to feel close to him. It was as if his mind was consistently elsewhere.

The traffic and construction could be viewed as a blessing in disguise. She wanted to get to the bottom of Stan's quirky behaviors, and this could be the time to do it.

His right hand turned the volume up slightly on their radio, where his copy of the CD '_Disintegration_' was playing. The vocals of Robert Smith always seemed to make everything better. Who couldn't enjoy what he considered the best album ever? Especially when the sound of '_Lovesong_' permeated throughout the small space. His eyes glanced into Wendy's gaze before reverting them back to the road. "You're right, Wendy. I was just...I don't want to keep Kyle waiting for long after all he's been through. I wanted to be there to help him to his feet as soon as he got off the plane."

Stanley's metaphors were not exactly subtle. The lyrics made him feel good...in a nostalgic kind of way for a human being that he missed dearly. It was not helping him keep his mind focused on Wendy. It was like she was slowly falling away from him. He still did not realize it at all, though. Talking about Kyle in such a way had just become second nature to him over all the years, especially since they had been separated for months. Stan had never been apart from Kyle for that long in his entire life. He wanted to be the one to mend his super best friend's crestfallen soul.

She swore she could have felt her left eye twitch. Here she was, trying to repair everything and he brushed it off like a pesky fly. Everything was about Kyle, it seemed as if nothing was about her. Stan seemed to care about his best friend's happiness well above her own. Wendy wasn't going to have that. The raven-haired girl took a deep sigh, for she knew the next words out of her mouth wouldn't be pretty.

"Listen, Stan! I'm getting a little tired of your Kyle fixation. I know he's your best friend, but you seem to be obsessed with him. I'm getting really sick of it," she hissed, shooting daggers into his already frigid orbs. Wendy had finally lost her cool, she had had enough.

Although the traffic was not moving much, Stan still kept his eyes on the road. His peripheral proved adequate enough in seeing Wendy's once delicate face becoming contorted with a hot furry. His own eyes grew wide. It seemed he entered a state of bedlam. "DUDE!" he exclaimed, completely flabbergasted. "That's not it at all! I just...really missed him and stuff. How could you even say that, Wendy?!"

Stan inhaled sharply. The anxiety nearly prompted an asthma attack, though he somehow miraculously fought off his tight chest without the aid of his inhaler. "I love you!" professed the dark-haired teen. The words were meant to guilt her into ending what felt like an interrogation to him.

Though his sweet talk had saved him once before, it would not save him this time. The dark-haired one had been pushed over the edge, and she was ready to start an all out war. Months and months worth of frustrations were finally exposed.

"Don't call me 'dude,' Stan! I'm not one of your buddies, so get that straight," her voice was ice old. "You missed him a little too much, I'd say. I can tell your mind is always elsewhere, you're always focusing on him! Well, soon you'll be seeing your beloved Kyle and you won't need to spare me a passing glance. I have nothing more to say to you, Stan," Wendy sputtered, her voice shaking a little. It was mixture of both rage and nerves.

Her eyes kept on looking straight ahead. She wanted nothing more than to just open the car door and run. Wendy could not even believe his words. Those three words that he had uttered felt as if they were trying to close an argument to her. It was a cheap way to try and win. The raven-haired girl looked over her shoulder and out the window. She would be perfectly content not saying another word.

"No, I didn't mean it like that, du-Wendy! It's just something I say! I've been saying it for as long as I can remember!" Stan cried, his body tensing up. It was transparent that her words instilled panic into his being. "I know you're different...y-you're my girlfriend! I don't look at Kyle like THAT! Kyle's not a chick!" He stopped short, swallowing hard. A lump was forming in his throat, for his own words had put him in a very dangerous position. Frankly, Stan was completely oblivious to other possible feelings towards Kyle. It may have been more in reality, but all that he was for now was his closest confidant, his best friend. "You're my girlfriend!" he repeated firmly.

One may have speculated that the frantic teenager was attempting to assure himself, though he was trying to do was diffuse the fuse that he sparked on the bomb. It was burning...growing shorter with every passing second. One false move and it could be all over. That was the last disposition that Stan Marsh desired to be in. Wendy Testaburger had been his for four consistent years. He did not want to lose her. "It's not over..."

An uneasy silence filled the small car. It seemed that no words would be uttered for the rest of the way to the airport.

* * *

"Hurry Gerald," a large woman called, already half way into the family vehicle. The phone call from the previous night had left her feeling tumultuous. Sheila had barely gotten any sleep, her mind had been completely consumed by Kyle. She didn't even know how she was going to respond when she would finally see her son for the first time in months. It was going to be a bitter sweet moment to say the least. In that moment, Gerald came running towards the car.

"Sorry, it took me forever to find my keys," Gerald replied, fastening his seat belt. There was no question that they were going to be late, so he pulled out as quickly as possible, and set out to the airport. Kyle's younger brother, Ike, was in the back seat. Ike had always idolized his older brother ever since he was very young. No matter how upsetting Kyle's coming home was to his parents, it surely wasn't going to be upsetting for him. In fact, he practically welcomed it. The circumstances really did not matter to Ike. Somebody as cool as Kyle couldn't possibly be a failure in his eyes...ever.

"Mommy, Daddy, I'm excited! I wanna see Kyle noooow!" Ike chimed happily. His feet kicked the back of his mother's seat gently. He usually was more behaved, but the excitement of seeing Kyle just proved far too great for the little one. A hint of a smile appeared on Gerald's face, but Sheila was far from smiling.

"Ike, please! You're not a little boy, you know how to behave," she scolded. "I better call woobie to tell him we're going to be late," Sheila stated to no one in particular. Her manicured fingers dialed the number she knew by heart. It took her straight to his voicemail, which she was expecting. Her son's voice mail was simply appalling. The language he used made her ears feel as if they were on fire.

"WHAT, WHAT, WHAT!?" she hollered back, although her yelp could only be heard by the others in the car. Sheila had been feeling a bit out of place the whole morning. She had been having constant feelings of aggression towards her son, but deep in her heart she missed him terribly. It left her feeling very irritated.

"Kyle, this is your mother. I'm calling to tell you that we'll be running a little late, but we should be there in no time. We'll see you when you get in, alright? We're going to have a serious discussion later tonight. You're not getting off with just a slap on the wrist, you need to get your priorities in order. Do you understand? And please, change that disgusting voicemail. I didn't raise you to use that kind of language!" she took a deep breath.

"See you soon. Love you," Sheila added without any hint of affection. Slowly, she closed her cell phone along with her eyes. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

The six hours and ten minutes of hell finally came to a landing. Kyle's lackluster eyes stared outside the window, which were surveying the all too familiar runway closely. Although it was under the worse circumstances imaginable, he was home at last.

"Folks, I would like to be the first one to welcome you to Denver, Colorado. It looks like the snow isn't planning on letting up anytime soon. The current temperature is currently 31 degrees Fahrenheit. Please keep your seat belt fastened until we've come to a complete stop at the gate. We thank you for flying with us today on Delta Air Lines. We hope you choose to fly with us again soon," the pilot voiced over the PA system.

"Man, I still could NOT believe how fuckin' funny dat movie was! That cracka was sooo craz-zay, cracka! Who da tunk dat he get outta dat like dat? I neva realized dat da cure for AIDS was highly concentrated Gs!" exclaimed Tyrone. "Dose da best kind of movies, ya know? Smart...but it make you think about it, cracka!"

Kyle's pricked fingers rubbed at his temples. "Dude, I DON'T care," he stated aloofly through gritted teeth. His agitation had peaked well over an hour or two ago. Tyrone would not shut his mouth for anything if he had the littlest thought about it.

"HAHAHAHA!" the man's wild, trademark laugh erupted out of him. Kyle had gathered from the start of the flight that Tyrone had never taken him seriously. "You aiight, cracka, you aiight," he managed after the laughter finally died down. He clamped his hand down hard on the Jewish teen's shoulder. "It's been reeeal fun."

The wavy-haired redhead winced upon impact. A disconsolate groan escaped from him. His touch was always rough, but on another level it made him uncomfortable. How some people were able to be so friendly and touchy-feely to somebody that would not even matter in their life was a mystery to him.

At that moment the plane came to its full stop. Kyle somehow found himself inwardly thanking Jehovah as he unfastened his seat belt and gathered his carry-on items from underneath his seat.

People began moving about the aircraft. Many, such as Tyrone, got up to retrieve their carry on luggage from the overhead compartment. "WOOOAAH!" the tall man exclaimed as his arms suddenly caught his luggage. "Dat was thinking fast, cracka! Shiiit always be shifting during flight."

He nodded in response absent mindedly, for he was in a lethargic kind of daze. The plane was filing out more and more. Kyle brought himself to his feet with the support of the chair in front of him. His legs felt wobbly and weak, as if they could give way under him at the drop of a hat. He grudgingly shifted his red backpack onto his shoulders and maneuvered his laptop case onto his left shoulder.

"Aww, you go on ahead of me, cracka," Tyrone offered cordially. He stepped out of the row and backed up slightly, allowing people to have to wait until Kyle passed. The Jewish teenager seized the opportunity and went on ahead of his seat mate. His legs ached with each step that he took forward. He was so exhausted that walking even seemed like a chore. Kyle moved along a tad slowly, although he was going as fast as he could manage at the time.

"Buh-bye! Fly with us again soon!" a cheery flight attendant called as a final farewell. Kyle made no move to acknowledge this and remained silent. He really had to focus on walking without falling down to the ground.

The outside air could be felt while exiting in the aircraft gate. It was most frigid, which caused the wavy-haired male to shiver. He was wearing his coat, but the cold still cut through like a knife. The inclination leading up to the airport seemed far steeper than it was in reality. For the haggard one, it felt a lot like walking up a large hill in sand.

Finally, he had made it out to the terminal. Tyrone stopped at his side. "You gonna be okay, cracka? I got bid'nez to take care of. I meeting my homie out at da baggage claim and den we's heading to da hood."

"Don't...worry...about.....me," Kyle plead exhaustedly. A small fraction of his being appreciated the man's concern, but he mostly could not wait to be rid of his company.

"Aiight! I gotta bounce, cracka! Mebbe I see you again someday in dis cra-zay world." With those words and a casual wave, Tyrone headed off into the distance, disappearing into the crowd of people at Denver International.

* * *

His desired short wait had been an extended one. Since 5:00 am Cartman had been keeping a close watch for anyone who resembled Kyle Broflovski. Much to his dismay, he never spotted anyone. Playing the waiting game got old fast, and he was becoming more restless by the minute. The current time was 10:20 am, and Cartman could swear that if he didn't see his object of affection soon he would scream. He was thankful, however, for not stumbling upon any more sparring matches with random people in the terminal. It would be a shame to waste all of his energy on them when he had Kyle to look forward to.

"HHHEEH," he moaned tightening his grip on the blanket draped around him. It was still so early in the morning, but he felt as if he had been up for an entire day. It baffled him that so many people would be up at this hour if they didn't have to be. As a child, he had liked getting up early. Perhaps it was just for the sheer joy of watching cartoons. Either that, or he really did just possessed more energy back then. These days he felt as if he never got enough sleep.

His jaw stretched itself wide open as he yawned and squinted his eyes. He was almost positive he saw a blur of red hair. If his eyes were not deceiving him, he could be about to experience the greatest alleviation of all time. This could be it.

"Heh! Omigod," Eric yelped with excitement, receiving a few stares in return. His things had gone askew as he suddenly leapt to his feet. He was beyond thrilled. There was just a feeling inside him that screamed Jew. Quickly retrieving his things, and his sign in hand, he made his way over to the blur of red. As he walked he made sure to hold the sign far about his head, extending his arm up as high as it would allow him.

Had he been in his usual state of mind, Kyle would have taken his cellphone out of his pocket and immediately turned it on to get in contact with his parents. Instead, his heavy eyes scanned the area, desperately attempting to make out the familiar face of either his parents, Ike, Stan, and possibly Wendy. Unfortunately and obviously, the Jewish boy came up empty. None of them would have gone through the trouble to meet him inside the terminal because he was of age and usually capable. He took a few more baby steps and abruptly stopped in front of a nearby row of seats inside the terminal.

His weary eyes were stained, but he could still make out the vivid letters on a sign that was held up high. The words read, "**WELCUM BK JOO!!**".

With each step, his being was consumed with sheer ecstasy. As he came closer to his object of affection, he smiled. It was Kyle. Cartman stopped, making sure Kyle's eyes were directly on him as he held up the sign with a wild grin. His grin quickly turned into a frown, for the Jew was not coming towards him. Although Kyle was looking at him, his expression appeared dazed and confused. Eric figured he must have been too stunned for words, and made his way over to him.

"Yes, YES! Welcome home, Jew. Are you excited to see me, Kyle?" he prodded, getting right up in the red head's face. There was no response, it seemed that Kyle was trying to concentrate on not falling over.

"Kyle?" Eric questioned, his tone still bright though apprehension was consuming him. Something definitely was not right.

"I said welcome home you dickhole! Jesus, it looks like you just escaped from a concentration camp," he commented, almost wanting to laugh at his own brilliance. There was still no response. He wasn't sure whether he should be pissed or not.

"Kyle?" Eric questioned again. Something definitely was not right.

"Answer me, you buttmuch!"

Kyle could hardly keep his eyes open or stand up. The darkness kept slipping back in and out. He was fading fast. "Car...t..man...?" the shorter of the pair inquired slowly. His ears hadn't actually processed any of the strong one's words. The red head could not even form a single, coherent thought in his mind any longer. The fact that he managed to murmur the other's name was purely on instinct and coincidental. He was standing, but hollow. Kyle was there, but just barely, and falling away from conscious thought with every passing second.

All the coffee and insomnia in the world could not keep a human up forever.

His pale, sickly, thin body finally gave way and he collapsed against Cartman's chest. He could not will his eye lids to stay open for any longer, for they felt as heavy as lead. His eyes were drained of any glimmer of awareness and fell shut with one fell swoop. It was blatant from his limp body that all of his energy was spent. He was not going to be able to move on his own any time soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** See the first chapter for details. Heh heh heh.

**Author's Note:** Thank you for reviewing. XD Umm...what's there to say about this chapter? A lot of movement? It's still kind of dull, but it's starting to heat up! Please read on if this story's still holding your interest. It can only get better. : D

"HEHUHA!" the taller of the two yelped. Cartman instinctively latched on to Kyle's shoulders so he wouldn't continue to fall. This gesture wasn't completely necessary, since the red-head was resting in a stable position on his chest. The sudden fall had been surprising and predictable all at once. Kyle was not well.

The red-head's complexion was deathlike, and his eyes appeared lifeless. It was almost as if he had been conscious without being mindful. Nonetheless, this stunned Cartman on a number of levels. What was he to do? Either Kyle was just really exhausted or he was in need of medical attention. Whichever it was didn't matter, for Eric was too consumed with panic to think straight.

"Heh...heh, very funny Kyle. You can stop pretending now...WAKE UP YOU STUPID JEW!" he cried, shaking Kyle's limp body. His antisemitic outburst had caused him to receive several looks.

"Haha, airport joke!" he said feebly with a smile. Cartman tightened his grasp on Kyle, his belongings, and made a beeline for the garage. His body felt so lifeless he literally could have been dead. He made his way to the escalator, but holding Kyle with one arm the whole way down proved to be a challenge. The muscular one had to keep holding the smaller boy by his behind, pushing him up towards his neck every few seconds. Although it secured his hold on Kyle, it didn't help him balance himself.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, taking his first step off the escalator. He was thankful he was alive. Cartman took a minute to adjust his things. It honestly would be easier if he held the red-head with both arms. With a scowl on his face, he lifted the other's legs up and secured his grasp. He placed his other belongings in Kyle's arms.

"This is so gay," he muttered to himself, desperately wanting to disappear. _Jews always fuck everything up._ All he wanted to do was get the red-head out of the airport and into his car. He had been getting many more odd looks, and he was beginning to feel embarrassed. Eric made his way past the Delta check in desk, barely taking notice to who was there.

"Hey, hey kid! That doesn't look like your little sister," the man from behind the desk called. Eric stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes full of fear. But he had to think on his feet. That's what he did best.

"Um, this is my sister sir," he said, turning his head slightly. He made sure the man could not get a second look at Kyle. "The disease has really taken its toll, she's lost most of her feminine features. I know she's grisly and utterly appalling, but what can I do, huh?!" he yelled, forcing tears to his eyes.

"You're not fooling anyone, kid," the man replied sternly. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to call security."

Without another thought Cartman took off. Years of football practice had strengthened his legs immensely. He was not about to be caught, not after all he had been through to get to where he currently was.

"Hey fatty, stop!" he heard the man call.

"DON'T CALL ME FAT, YOU BLACK ASSHOLE!" he retorted without even turning around. His voice was already loud and penetrating, he didn't need to face his opponent. The elevator was in sight, he'd be to his car in no time. By taking off so quickly he had managed to get an ample head start. He pushed the button for the elevator, jittering impatiently as he waited. This was giving the security guards time to catch up.

"Come on, COME ON," Cartman roared as he hit the button multiple times. The guards were gaining and time was running out. Kyle had begun to slump around Cartman's chest area. It would have been much easier if the red-head could actually wrap his arms around the taller one's neck. He slipped a little more each second.

"End of the line, kid," the security guard gasped breathlessly as he came face to face with Cartman. Two security guards stood before him, they were both tall and fairly muscular in build. Immediately, Eric decided to throw his blanket and robe at the two as the elevator door opened. Eric tossed Kyle into a hugging position, so the his chin was resting on his broad shoulder. The guards, who were regaining their composure, made their way to the door. Cartman pushed the button for the elevator door to close as soon as one guard's leg was in the opening. With a horror stricken face, he was pulled back by the other guard before the door closed.

Cartman breathed a sigh. He could rest easy for the time being, but he wouldn't truly feel safe until he was inside his car. The walk to his car felt like an eternity, but he eventually made it. He managed to place Kyle in the passenger seat, and he fastened his seat belt. _You're no spring chicken, Kyle,_ he mused inwardly as he got in the driver's seat. Of course he didn't mean that, for Kyle had a slender build, but he could never think of anything nice to say about the red-head. Cartman backed out of his space, and made his way out of the airport.

_You're mine now, Jew._

* * *

Fifteen minutes after Eric Cartman's haphazard escape, the pair of them pulled up to Denver International's parking garage. _Dammit...I can't believe how shitty of time we made on our way over. Poor Kyle's probably been waiting at baggage claim for at least a half hour! Christ, this is lame. Why the fuck hasn't he returned my phone call? My voicemail went through without any problems. I don't fucking get it,_ were the spastic thoughts that spouted out in Stanley Marsh's head. His left finger rapidly tapped the green button, which was supposed to withdraw a ticket for the parking garage.

Finally, the ticket slid out of the dispenser. Stan's eager hand immediately seized it, and the gates opened up as if by magic. His right foot shifted for the gas pedal, pressing down on it a tad more than necessary for the safe speed. Onward their smart fortwo went up the ramp. Each floor seemed to be a little too full for the early hour in the morning. It was like every force out there was in the way to make them arrive as late as possible. "Fuck..." he murmured, clearly agitated. The swear word was the first to fill the small space since the awkwardness on Pena Boulevard.

It had been unlike any of their typical couple spats. This one was not going to blow over so quickly. The tension, which could be cut with a knife, was still blatant in the air. Wendy nor Stan hadn't made the slightest eye contact with one another, not even a passing glance. His hands gripped tightly onto the wheel. It was to the point where his knuckles were beginning to turn white, which would have been apparent had he not been wearing gloves. The dark-haired male desired to say something more to her, although he feared the response at the same time. What if she really thought it was over? What if they were to be no more after all they had been through?

A crestfallen sigh escaped from him as he subsequently pulled into an unoccupied space. The pair was on the top floor, where a view of the city's skyline could be seen. The snow still hadn't let up, although it hadn't gotten any worse. It was snowing lightly but very constant, which would make for the whole state to be covered in a fresh blanket within a few hours. Stan shifted into park on and turned the keys, pulling the set from the ignition. The cold air seemed almost as if it were trying to seep in as soon as the heat was turned off with the rest of the vehicle.

Wordlessly, Stan took his cellphone from the drink holder and opened the car door. He placed his Razor within his front, jeans pocket. Wendy mimicked his silence and slid her purse onto her shoulder. After the pair of them had both shut the door on their side, Stan's thumb clicked the button on the car keys for all the doors to lock. He placed the keys in the very pocket where his phone rested and began taking large stride towards the elevator. Wendy followed at his side, though there still had yet to be any words exchanged. Stan had to scrutinize whether the silence was doing more harm than the words had. He came up with no answer as they entered the elevator.

The way down to the airport felt like an eternity. They both chose to keep their eyes averted away from each other, focusing them on the illuminated floor numbers above the door. Once the doors opened, Stan made a beeline for baggage claim. He maneuvered his way through the crowds with more ease than Wendy, due to being a good five inches taller. His frigid orbs hungrily scanned the monitors that displayed which carousel each flight's luggage was to be. Kyle's flight was supposed to be at carousel number eight.

His legs sprinted over to the designated area and came to a quick halt in front of the baggage carousel. It appeared that most of the people arriving from Cincinnati had already claimed their bags, since the crowds were dwindling. He surveyed every inch of the area several times, though he kept coming up empty. "Where IS Kyle?!" Stan demanded, becoming completely panic-stricken. Wide eyed, his hand reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, flipping it open. Much to his horror, there were not any missed calls. "Goddammit, no!" His thumb rapidly dialed the number he knew by heart and he lifted the device to his ear.

There was only one ring before he was taken to the all too familiar voicemail greeting. "His phone is still off and he's nowhere to be seen!" Stan yelped loudly, causing the people nearby to give him a few looks. After the tone, he frantically voiced, "Kyle, I know we were late, but we're here now. Could your family have already gotten you? Jesus...I hope that's the case, dude! You HAVE to pick up! You promised you'd hang around for me, remember? REMEMBER?!" He echoed the last word in a much louder volume than he had already been screaming at.

More eyes turned to he and Wendy as he hung up the phone. His own gaze was fixated on the red Razor's display screen, desperately pining for a returned call; all the while his imagination was running wild with the worst quandaries that could have happened to poor Kyle. He would surely be driven to insanity if he were to remain in the silence.

She had to admit it was a bit suspicious to not see Kyle around, especially when the two were so late. However, there still were logical explanations to their dilemma. Her dainty hand covered her flushed face. Wendy hadn't uttered a word to Stan since their argument in the car, but now she felt as if she was about to snap. The young girl couldn't bite her tongue for another minute, no matter how angry she was.

"Will you shut up, Stan!" the raven-haired one hissed, clutching his arm. She quickly snatched his phone and closed it shut, keeping it secure in her other hand.

"WENDY, I NEED THAT!" he cried in horror. Although it was against his own will, the death stare that she was giving him caused him to do as she implored.

She had had about enough of his obsessive behavior. It was one thing to be worried, but it was another thing to make an embarrassing scene in public when nobody was even certain of what was going on. Taking a breath, she parted her lips to speak.

"Listen, Kyle could just be in the bathroom or something. Calm down and relax. Everything will be okay. I'm sure nothing awful has happened to him, so you can stop embarrassing me now," she said this with a much calmer tone, although her words were still laced with venom.

"Let's just wait here. I'm sure Kyle's parents are on their way if they haven't gotten him already."

The Broflovskis had just arrived. The entire family was racing to get into the airport, for they were well aware of their lateness. Each member of the family had quite different emotions consuming them. Sheila was angry and eager, Gerald was annoyed but excited, and Ike was simply ecstatic. The three entered the airport and quickly found their way to baggage claim.

As they approached the area where Kyle should be, their eyes stumbled upon Stan and Wendy, two good friends of their son. But where was Kyle? He was no where to be seen.

"Kids!" Sheila called, her family behind her. "I didn't know you two were coming to see him. It's quite late, is Kyle still hanging around here? Where is he?"

Now, Wendy felt her nerves begin to start. The idea that Kyle had been with his family was eliminated, which made her feel a combination of emotions. She knew this news would worry Stan immensely, and she automatically felt like apologizing to him. Unfortunately, now was not a good time for an apology.

"Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski," the dark-haired one stated, trying to maintain a soothing tone. "I don't mean to alarm you, but Stan and I arrived just a few moments ago to see Kyle. I thought he might have went home with you already," she found herself trailing off as her mind began to wander. _Please be okay, Kyle,_ she mused silently. Wendy now reached for her boyfriend's hand and held it gently, hoping he would remain as calm as he possibly could.

Stan made no motion to reject her hand. His skin had grown to a rather lurid shade. It seemed that he was too over come with panic to even scream like he usually did when he was worried about something. His stomach dropped and he suddenly felt very squeamish. Wendy had been wrong all along. All of his worst fears rapidly became concrete. Something terrible HAD happened to Kyle!

"What? He's not here!?" Gerald cried in bewilderment, taking in Wendy's words. Sheila's face was set to stunned as she turned to face her husband. The red-haired woman wanted to appear at peace in front of her other son, who she knew was already terribly worried, but it was to no avail.

"This is terrifying, Gerald. He should be here. I'm going to try and give him a call," Sheila quickly dialed her son's number. It was the number she called so often, and when she often dialed it she felt irate. Now, however, all she felt was fear.

"It's not going to work, Mrs. Broflovski," he finally piped in. His voice had grown slightly hoarse from all the screaming prior to the family's entrance. "I just dialed Kyle's number a moment ago. He still hasn't turned his phone on yet." It was difficult for the dark-haired teenager to keep his voice steady. The temptation for it to break was sickly enticing, for a lump was starting to form in his throat. He was far from being the strong type in terrible situations without his best friend nearby. If Kyle had been there, however, he would have taken a leader position.

Frigid orbs widened in fright as they caught a glimpse of the name "Kyle Broflovski" written on one of the luggage tags. Immediately his hands seized the large, dark green suitcase by the handle and pulled it over the baggage carousel. There was another on the opposite side, among the other straggling luggage, that hadn't came around to them yet, which was the same color, but smaller in size. It was now painfully blatant that Kyle had never been to baggage claim yet.

The lump in Sheila's throat had grown quite large, and for the first time in a long time, anger left her. All she was concerned about was finding her son. Her old concerns became nothing but a memory. The thought of her son being only a memory was more than she could bear. If something terrible happened to him, she wouldn't be able to live with herself. She spent such a long time trying to keep him safe from harm. She was constantly hovering over his shoulder. Sheila usually always had control over her boy, but the one time she was absent from his life he had gone missing.

Tears stung from the back of her eyes and she knew she wouldn't be able to fight her depression much longer. She glanced at Gerald and Ike, with the utmost depressive eyes, and then she turned to Stan.

"Do you possibly know of anything that could have led to him not being here?" the woman asked the younger one, trying to keep her voice as steady as she could.

The large woman's words caused a sudden epiphany to dawn upon him. All the frantic gears in Stan's mind instantly clicked and the words of Eric Cartman played back in his memory: "_Of course I'd rip on him! It's the perfect opportunity. I'd be stupid not to do it. Anyway, it's getting late gay wad, so I'm going to have to go._"

"CARTMAN!" he suddenly roared, appearing slightly crazed to those around him. Although there was fury, a wave of alleviation overcame him. The logic made prefect sense. It was amazing to finally put the last piece where it belonged in the puzzle. Stan inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, willing himself to speak in a manner that Kyle's parents would understand. "That fatass just HAS to have something to do with this! It's all coming together! Dude, I think I know where Kyle is!" he informed Sheila informally. "I'll tell you all everything I know. Wendy, I'll need my phone again soon..."

* * *

It felt as if hours had gone by, but in reality he had only been driving for a mere twenty minutes. Cartman made sure to keep a close eye on his friend. Although he was strapped in, there was just something uncanny about an unconscious person in the passenger seat. His warm, amber eyes scanned the red-haired teen up and down. He did seem okay, but he made him feel very anxious. Eric wasn't sure if he was anxious from all that had happened or if it was just Kyle being unresponsive. The thought of what Kyle's family would think of their son's absence had honestly not crossed his mind. All he cared about was getting the Jew back to his place for major, inescapable ripping.

"Come on, Kyle, wake up. You're starting to give me the creeps," he stated firmly, shaking him a little while still keeping his eyes on the road. An unconscious Jew was no fun. They couldn't even argue.

It was a long drive back to South Park, and this was not how he had envisioned it. In his deluded mind, he had pictured Kyle strapped in, and unable to escape, letting him taunt him the entire way. That was Cartman's idea of passing time. Just the thought of it brought a smile to his lips. And then the taunting would only continue when they reached their final destination. He tapped his fingers on the wheel impatiently. The brown-haired one could not for the life of him understand how anyone could be in this deep of a sleep. There had to be someway to wake him.

His eyes glanced at Kyle. He was very pasty and appeared as if he almost needed medical attention. It looked as if he hadn't slept in a very long time. Music reached the Cartman's ears. It was coming from the radio, and he suddenly got an idea. If this didn't do it, he didn't know what would. He reached and turned the volume up, almost to its maximum. This ended up being painful on his own ears, but it was his last resort.

_"Feeling alive all over again,  
As deep as the sky, under my skin  
Like being in love, she says  
For the first time  
Maybe I'm wrong,  
But I'm feeling right where I belong  
With you tonight  
Like being in love  
To feel for the first time."_

Those were the lyrics that permeated throughout the entire car. As the chorus had been blasting, he had managed to swerve the car back and forth vigorously. Kyle's eyes still did not open.

A few other motorists on the road shouted out angry swears at the older teenager. It was fortunate that the road was on the empty side, otherwise the swerving could have caused an accident. The potential was there, but that was far from the ambition of Eric's brilliant, little scheme.

"WAKE UP YOU FREAKIN' JEW!" Cartman roared, feeling his face grow hot. He was really beginning to feel more and more agitated. He turned the volume down and heaved a sigh. If that didn't wake the red-head up, nothing would. Cartman sat there in silence, letting the song fill his ears. Something about the lyrics made him feel something. It wasn't an unpleasant something, but it wasn't a good something either. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to stand the rest of the drive home.

Though he was strapped in rather securely, all of the violent jerking of Cartman's vehicle had caused Kyle's limp head to collapse against his shoulder. "Nnnhhh..." he mumbled incoherently, his mouth opening slightly. "I...don't...want...to...go..." Real words were beginning to form, but there were long pauses between each one, for he was talking in his sleep. The Jewish teen was still a long way from being awake. His tone was nearly nonsensical from all the exhaustion it carried. If one were to listen closely, however, they would be able to make out the words.

"HUHAHHAH!" Cartman practically yelped. The sudden sensation of Kyle's head on his shoulder was new and foreign. For a moment, he was completely paralyzed. Cartman shrugged the red-head off gently and took a deep breath. Despite his sudden terror, his keen ears picked up on the quiet words that the smaller one uttered.

"Oh, believe me, you'll go, there's no escaping this one," Cartman replied to himself, in an utmost eerie way, as he locked all the doors in the car with the push of a button.

* * *

The explanation that Stanley had provided his girlfriend and his super best friend's family caused a whole spectrum of reactions. First was bewilderment, due to the obvious fact of how farfetched the recollection seemed. What was Cartman to gain from kidnapping Kyle and taking him back to his place? Then Stan quickly screeched out the obvious motive, which was humiliating him for failing. It was after that was said that the Broflovskis were quickly reminded of who they were dealing with.

Eric Cartman was far from the ordinary college student, much less person. Most people, who have the common decency and empathy towards life, would fail to see the pleasure in intentionally hurting another human being. They would be particularly blind to it, especially when the one who was hurt was feeling so low and vulnerable. Eric was a dangerous, sadistic person. His eyes blatantly did not see it as that, for it would be too much fun and an opportunity. The fact that Kyle was his rival also attributed to that kind of logic. It made perfect sense to the manipulative one, even if most did not understand or were sickened by the mere thought of the action.

As soon as the explanation was finished and the rapid fire questions were answered as best as possible, Wendy relinquished her grasp on Stan's phone. Once back in his grasp, Stan flipped the mobile device open and his thumb guided him to his contact list. He did not call Cartman's cellphone enough to the point of memorization. He only had his home phone memorized. His thumb made the small shift over to the down key, and he scrolled down to an entry named Fatass. Stan's next move was most predictable, for he hit the talk button and raised the device to his ear.

The raven-haired teenager's body tensed as the ringback tone of '_Party Like a Rockstar_' filled his ears. Whom did not bear a strong animosity towards such a repetitive lyric was beyond him, because he sure did and Cartman knew. He always found creative ways of pressing people's buttons, no matter how subtle.

"Oh hey, what's going on?" Cartman greeted casually.

"You know damn well what's going on, fatass! What in the hell have you done with Kyle?!" Stan suddenly implored.

"Puh, who cares? That's gay."

"I CARE! I'm asking the question! Cartman, this isn't a game! Do you know how worried you've made everyone? Listen, you better tell me—"

Stan was cut of with the sudden reply of, "If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm not here, retard. Leave a message if it's important, heh heh heh." The brunette really did have a knack for pushing people over the edge. Stan was clearly irked.

"GODDAMMIT!" he screamed out of frustration. A few passing by gave him some odd looks. After the beep, Stan went on to leaving a message. It sadly was all he could do at the time. "Cartman, it's Stan. I know that it was you who fucking abducted Kyle from the airport. I'm not exactly sure how you did it, but I KNOW it was you! We're about to head back to South Park now. I know you just moved into your apartment last week and I don't know the address, but don't think that will stop me from going to your mom's and getting the information out of her!" he voiced threateningly, his teeth gritted.

"You have no idea how worried you made everybody, you fat asshole! Wait...knowing you YOU probably DO! Either way, it's over. There's no stopping us, it's only a matter of time! You're not going to win this!" Stan finished bitterly, closing his phone in the most violent way possible.

* * *

The drive back to South Park had been a long and dull one. Cartman kept the stereo volume up high just to help prevent himself from falling asleep at the wheel. He had nodded off several times, which had startled him tremendously. It was a good thing to be in the middle of no where sometimes, the less people, the less chance of a car accident. He heaved a heavy sigh as he finally made it to his apartment. The muscular one parked the car and automatically allowed himself to relax.

Cartman's amber eyes latched on to Kyle's closed ones. He was perfectly still, but there was something so peaceful about the expression he possessed. He shook his head back and forth quickly, while averting his eyes to his feet. It must be bad luck or something to stare at a Jew for too long.

The brunette slowly got out of the car, his legs shaking a bit. Snow had never ceased falling. Cartman made his way to the opposite side of the car. His strong grip pulled the door open with ease, and he unfastened Kyle's seat belt. There was something unnerving about being so close to the red-head's waist. It had caused him to feel a bit light headed for a moment. He picked up the smaller one, almost like a mother would carry her baby. He didn't have anything else to carry, for it had been left behind at the airport.

"My God, you really are no spring chicken. It must be all those latkes you Jews eat," he muttered to himself as he made his way inside the building. The thought of food subconsciously made him hungry, but he refused to believe that Jewish food was appetizing, no matter how hungry he was. He had received several looks upon entering the lobby. Eric sighed, he was really getting tired of this. It had been too long of a day and the day had only begun. All he cared about now was getting Kyle up into his apartment, where he could have the ripping of his life. Cartman couldn't wait to see devastation etched across the smaller one's features.

When Cartman finally reached his door, he practically barged in, almost dropping Kyle. He was truly ecstatic to be back at his place. The chairs in the terminal were not the ideal place to sleep. He hastily placed the red-haired teen on his couch, dropping him almost like he was something hot, which was ironic since he had been holding him so closely mere moments ago. Kyle landed in a somewhat provocative position. His slender legs were spread quite far apart from each other. Cartman felt his face flush fervid as a flame, and his head was reeling.

He frowned and headed towards his room to get his favorite book. _Sick Jew rat, he's even a whore when he's sleeping,_ he mused inwardly as the color faded from his cheeks.

A sudden beep sounded from his right pocket. Cartman quickly reached for his mobile phone and flipped it open. It read that he had one missed call, and a new voice mail, both from Stan Marsh. He had received the call about thirty minutes ago, but he hadn't heard it. It didn't really matter to him, however, since he wouldn't have picked up anyway. His heart immediately sank and his chest became tight. It was very likely that Stan had figured it all out by now. Eric threw his phone behind his shoulder, and it gracefully landed on his bed without making a sound.

His lips formed a smile as he began rummaging through one of his drawers. His hand eventually landed on a book entitled '_Mein Kampf_'. Cartman had read the book many times, but he couldn't get enough of it. It was such a masterpiece in his eyes. He clutched it tightly in his hand and headed back toward the couch. He took a seat on the foot rest of a nearby chair, and made sure to face Kyle as he began to read silently. There was no way he was going to miss Kyle's face when he woke up.


End file.
